Leo hung stunned in his straps as Durrance droned on. After a moment he swallowed the bite of squash still in his mouth, there being no more practical way to dispose of it. "Do you realize," he choked, "what this will do to the quaddies?"

Durrance blinked. "Not much, surely. There's still going to be plenty of jobs to do in free fall."

"It will destroy their edge in profitability versus ordinary workers, that's what. It was the downside medical leaves that were boosting the personnel costs. Eliminate them, and there's nothing to choose between—can this thing provide artificial gravity on a space station?"

"If they could mount it on a ship, they can put it on a station," opined Durrance. "It's not some kind of perpetual motion, though," he cautioned. "It sucks power like crazy, the jump pilot said. That'll cost something."

"Not as much—and surely they'll find more design efficiencies as they go along—oh, God."

This chance wasn't going to favor the quaddies. This chance favored no one. Damn, damn, damn the timing! Ten years from now, even one year from now, it could have been their salvation. Here, now, might it be—a death sentence? Leo flipped his feet out of the straps and coiled to launch himself toward the module doors.

"You just leaving this tray here?" asked Durrance. "Can I have your dessert . . . ?"

Leo waved a hand in impatient assent as he sprang away.

*      *      *

One look at Bruce Van Atta's glum and hostile face, as Leo swung into his Habitat office, confirmed Durrance's story. "Have you heard this artificial gravity rumor?" Leo demanded anyway, one last lurch of hope—let Van Atta deny it, name it fraud. . . .

Van Atta glared at him in profound irritation. "How the hell did you find out about it?"

"It's none of your business where I found out about it. Is it true?"

"Oh, yes it is my business. I want to keep this under wraps for as long as possible."

It was true, then. Leo's heart shrank. "Why? How long have you known about it?"

Van Atta's hand flipped the edges of a pile of plastic flimsies, computer printouts, and communiqués, magnetized to his desk. "Three days."

"It's official, then."

"Oh, quite official." Van Atta's mouth twisted in disgust. "I got the word from GalacTech district headquarters on Orient IV. Apmad apparently met the news on her way home, and made one of her famous field decisions."